Consolation Prize
by a. loquita
Summary: A missing scene from “Pack up your Troubles”


Consolation Prize  
A missing scene from "Pack up your Troubles"

Michael Ryan entered Fitzgerald's and announced, "I got a call from Peter."

Brendan asked, "Any news?"

Michael started with the good half of it. "He's coming back in a couple of weeks."

"Ah, good," Niamh said

"Fantastic," Assumpta put in, while moving to get Michael a whiskey. Then she realized the implication, "Oh, no."

All was a blur for her in the next minutes, as everyone talked. Assumpta thought only of Peter as she moved about behind the bar. Eventually, Assumpta interrupted the chatter and asked, "How's he taking it?"

"Well," Michael considered. "He's keeping busy with odds and ends, he says he's looking forward to coming home."

"Home? Here?" She asked, shocked.

"I suppose this is his home now," said Siobhan, "right enough."

Brendan added, "An Englishman's home is his favorite Irish pub."

"I told him you were back, Assumpta." Michael handed her a slip of paper. "Here's his number, give him a call."

"Thanks." She handed over a beer to Niamh as the group toasted all Moms. Assumpta clutched the paper in her hand, it was the closest thing she had to a link with him in months now. And that thought made her feel even more deserted and miserable than she'd already been feeling.

Peter lay on the couch. The house around him was silent. It was eerie after all the years of boys wrestling, his father turning the volume up on the radio to drown them out, the sounds of his mother cooking in the kitchen.

Peter couldn't sleep in his old room, the little bed too much of a reminder of a time when his life was simple, choices were clear, and there was no loss. His parents' old room was too steeped in emotion and the guest room made from his youngest brother's room was too new and foreign. He felt like Goldilocks in The Three Bear's house, and the couch felt just right.

Didn't really matter Peter supposed, he wouldn't sleep anyway. He hadn't slept in months.

Peter forced himself to put his mother's wake out of his mind. Tomorrow he was meeting with Father Ryan who would say the funeral mass Tuesday morning. He looked at the clock in the dark reading 1:12 AM and corrected himself, meeting today in less than nine hours.

Peter was supposed to walk into that meeting with Father Ryan and have the hymns and readings already picked out. Of course his brothers left it to him to decide, joking, "Peter is the expert after all."

But Peter didn't much feel like an expert lately. He felt he'd just been saying the words to people and most of them weren't even listening to start with. He wondered if he threw in an advert for some diet drug or laundry detergent in the middle of the Liturgy of the Eucharist anyone would even notice. They all bicker and fight amongst themselves like children and can't even appreciate the time he spent mending friendships.

And Assumpta… Peter's heart fell like a rock dropped into his stomach. He learned it was best if he tried not to think of her at all. But he wasn't very good at it. She was of course free and clear to marry Leo, but Peter still felt betrayed.

Leo accused Peter of being the reason the marriage wasn't working. Then earlier on the phone, Michael said Assumpta was back at the pub, alone. Putting the pieces together, Peter knew he should feel renewed, but it hurt all the same. Besides, it didn't matter if she was free, he wasn't.

His dreams of Assumpta over the last year were often innocent, the two of them talking or walking together in the hills. But when she came home with Leo, Peter's dreams twisted into cruel reminders that she belonged to someone else. He'd see Leo in her bed, moving over her, kissing her skin, Assumpta whispering Leo's name.

It made Peter sick. He hated himself for the jealousy, and for his invasion into Assumpta's life. He had no right to even think of her in these terms, with any man, ever. But even these last few weeks Peter couldn't get her out of his head. He knew Leo was gone, and thankfully the images left with him. But it didn't heal his sense of everything being wrong in his life.

Peter began to drift after a while. He was in a warm place and Assumpta was there. Her cool hands were on his forehead and then the phone rang. Peter sat up.

It rang again and he got up and walked through the dark into the kitchen and picked it up on the third ring.

"Hello."

"Peter?" her voice was forlorn. In the dark, Peter closed his eyes and it was as if Assumpta were there next to him.

"Yes," he said.

"It didn't sound like you… I guess I woke you? I'm sorry I wasn't thinking of the time…"

"I was awake." Then there was a long silence and Peter was reminded of that night in the woods with her. _We really don't have a lot to say to each other._ He wondered if Assumpta would repeat her words.

"Michael told me about your mother, Peter, I'm so sorry." He could hear pain in Assumpta's voice; she meant what she was saying. "He gave me this number and made it sound as if you wanted me to call but maybe he assumed–"

"No. And thanks." Silence began to stretch again. Peter thought to himself, keep her talking. "So, what's the news?"

"Ah, well, Brian's held outdoor pursuits in full camouflage and caused Eamon to shoot at one of 'em. Got him in the, umm, backside."

"Good for Eamon."

"Brendan, Siobhan, Padraig and Kevin ran them out of town."

"Good for them," Peter said.

"Oh, and Siobhan and Brendan announced they're having a baby together."

"I know… wait, Brendan?"

She snorted. "Yeah, Niamh did the same."

"Well, sounds like I've not been missed at all." His voice was dull and monotone. "I'm not needed in Ballyk much these days, am I?"

Her panic rose, she didn't want him to stay in Manchester. "How can you say that?"

When there was nothing from the other end of the line in response, she blurted out, "Peter, I need you."

Assumpta froze, she hadn't intended to admit that. It was only that he was so clearly hurting and feeling sorry for himself and she wanted to comfort some of that pain away. There continued to be silence on the other end until she realized the soft sounds where of him crying.

"Ahm," Assumpta began again, uncomfortably. "Doc Ryan didn't say it but he's worried about you. He's not the only one."

"I'm fine," Peter said in a voice thick from tears.

"Not very convincing though."

"What am I supposed to tell Michael? There's nothing wrong with me." He was getting that frustrated, angry, indignant tone he seemed to use all the time now.

"Other than I took vows and I should honor them but I'm not even sure I believe in them anymore. I doubt if anyone cares if I help them or not, because they would rather bicker and fight. Then I lose my Mum but I can't even keep my mind on that– most of it's your fault– I can't sleep because of you. I can't eat, I don't know how to stop thinking about you but I'm not allowed to be near you."

"It's not easy for me either. Peter, don't you know how much I want to... comfort you." Silence, then, "Would that help if I– If we–"

"No." He cut Assumpta short. "But helps to know that you would… comfort… if you could."

"It helps?" Her tone added a touch of sarcasm, "So, misery loves company isn't just a saying?"

Peter would have laughed it wasn't all so terrible. "Something like that."

"Well, you know me. Always willing to help."

"Yeah, I know you." With those words, the betrayal and pain, the loss and hurt he had inside began to shift. It was there still, but it was losing ground. Peter took a deep breath, gaining some of himself back.

"Listen," Peter said, "it's getting late."

"You'll want to get some rest before tomorrow."

He requested, "Please tell everyone I'm looking forward to seeing them when I get home."

"And you'll be OK?"

"I'll be OK," he promised. But before he hung up, Peter felt the need not to leave this moment between them hanging, never acknowledging her honesty. "And Assumpta, thanks."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Goodnight, Peter."


End file.
